Best Friends
by ohhsnap
Summary: Steve&Soda. Someone call the fuzz and get me the hell outta here before I do somethin' crazy.


It's got to be a crime to want Soda Curtis this bad. It's just got to be. There's no way wanting to do something so dirty, so raw to someone that open and trusting can be legal. Don't they have special jail cells for perverts like me? Christ, when did I become a pervert? You get it in your head that for some reason it'd be real hot to jump your best friend in the back of one of the cars in the shop and suddenly there's a warrant out for your arrest. I can't stop thinkin' about it; I got a real problem. Just wanna get him out of that grease covered jump suit and show him what's what, toss the owner the keys when we're done and they'll never even know we were workin' the backseat instead of the engine. 'Course, if I ever got my hands on him it wouldn't be anything quick. I wouldn't be able to sleep for weeks, wantin' more. Crashin' at his place is already an invitation for a sleepless night, anyway. 

I mean, that's not why he's my best friend. Hell no. Wanting to be buddies with someone just so you can get into their pants isn't my idea of a way to get laid. He's my best friend because he's there when I need him and I don't have a problem returnin' the favor. It ain't hard bein' his 'emotional support', either, what with him bein' happier than Dally on the night of a rumble nine days outta ten. Soda's my buddy because we get along fine; we like the same music, the same cars, the same movies. He's good at football and I can whip him at pillow fights easy. And we work together. C'mon, you gotta like who you work with or you'll go crazy at your job.

Not like I don't go crazy workin' with him anyway. Even with oil and grease all over his hands and face he still manages to look that damn good. I go home smelling to high heaven and looking like someone kicked my ass and rubbed my face in the dirt, and he goes home lookin' the exact same as me but with a gaggle of chicks trippin' over themselves to buy him a Pepsi. Fuckin' Curtis good looks. Darry's got 'em, too, and Ponyboy'll have them before long. Pretty soon all the girls in Tulsa'll be hanging around the Curtis house and the rest of us won't be able to get in the front door.

But damn, I can't blame those broads for likin' him so much. He's got the perfect smile, a warm laugh. I could go on, but that's more of a chick thing than anything else. You want some mushy description, go ask his girl Sandy. She can't shut up about him, she's totally nuts about the guy. Lucky bitch gets him all to herself whenever we go to the drive-in, too. If it ain't his tag-along little brother nagging for his attention, it's his blond-haired ex-cheerleader girlfriend who won't let him get a word in edge wise 'cause she's too busy shoving her tongue down his throat. What I wouldn't give... Man. Evie ain't so bad, though. She's a good lookin' broad who don't ask questions. Not too keen on Ponyboy either and doesn't care what movie we're going to see as long as there's leg room in the car and a Coke in her hand. Only problem is she's a package deal: she won't go anywhere 'less Sandy'n Soda come too. Makes me wonder if she likes him more than me. Not like he'd ever notice if she did; he's up to his eyeballs in love with Sandy, as gross as it sounds. Double dates can get real tiring, sitting in the backseat with those two up front.

Almost seems like they're showing off, 'cause he doesn't just make out with her. Somewhere between unhooking Evie's bra and watching the movie I'll catch a glimpse of them every so often, and not only does he let Sandy suck his face off, but he makes her laugh, plays with her hair, kisses her neck, tells her things. The guy's a real romantic. Chicks go gaga for any guy who'll spew a little poetry, 'cept Soda's not doing it to get ass, he's doing it because that's who he is. I've known him for years, back when he spent more time thinking about horses than girls, and even then he was real sensitive for no good reason other than that was who he was.

Got a great body, too. Perfect balance between his brothers; not bulky like Darry, not a twerp like Ponyboy. Probably doesn't ever work out, the lazy bastard. He eats my weight in chocolate cake every day and he's still got better abs than I do. And he's such a fuckin' people person. Sometimes I think it's gotta be painful bein' that eager to work on cars and talk to angry customers every morning, but he gets out of bed, pops into the shower and drives to the DX like it was his very first shift and he's dyin' to make a good impression. The regulars know his name but don't even know I exist, don't know I work right alongside him on the same cars. It blows my mind.

Don't know why it happened, either. Likin' him like this, I mean. Slept over once when Ponyboy was off at a friend's for the night and woke up with Soda layin' against me and realized I didn't mind. Started noticing it when he didn't wear a shirt around the house. Horsing around got real real tricky and tackle football was almost impossible to play without getting distracted. And the fucked up thing is, I've only got it bad for him. Not Dallas, not Darry, not Shepard. None of 'em but Soda. Only wrestling him to the ground and pinning his arms down above his head makes my stomach knot up. Only watching him struggle to get away, breathing heavy, can get me where it counts. But hell, if someone as tough as James Dean can admit to gettin' it up for another guy and still manage to get ass, I figure I'm all right.

First one to make Sodapop Curtis howl. Got a nice ring to it, don't it? I'm almost convinced if that'd be the last time I'd ever get laid, it'd be worth it. Worth Darry kicking my ass if he ever found out, worth Sandy hatin' me and refusing to go on any more double dates. Worth it 'cause it's him and it's me and I'm startin' to worry that I'm never gonna get it out of my system.

Someone call the fuzz and get me the hell outta here before I do somethin' crazy.


End file.
